


Fine on My Own

by Michi_Pichi



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Eating Disorders, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 19:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11630433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michi_Pichi/pseuds/Michi_Pichi
Summary: Written for the Kink Meme: Goro Akechi has a strange relationship with food. When it becomes apparent to Akira that his behaviors are self destructive, he finds himself trying to break down the walls of someone who isn't used to anybody noticing much less caring about his well being.





	Fine on My Own

                  “Hey, Akechi,” Akira said with a nudge. “you’re drooling.” They needed to get off at the next stop and the boy detective had slumped over in exhaustion. It had been noticeable in the Casino the other day. His pallor was a touch sallow and in trying to explain the game rigging had stumbled over his tongue and drifted off.

                  Then there was the fact that he was pulling Akechi to Le Blanc on a Sunday to get a grasp of how he was going to backstab them. Morgana was staying with Haru for the night so he could ensure his reconnaissance would remain discreet. As of yet, it did not seem like the detective was aware of his blown cover. Strategizing the next floor of the latest palace was the perfect pretense to see what could be gleaned.

                  A part of Akira was curious. The rest of the team had already come to the conclusion that the traitor-to-be was an irredeemable monster. Evil. Bound to kill. A piece of him wanted to believe that there was some way to break through.

                  It wasn’t until the train was slowing into the station platform that it was apparent that the detective prince was out further than should have been possible on the short trek from Shinjuku. Even from under a discreet layer of concealer and foundation, the darkness under the eyes looked like bruising under the harsh lighting.

                  It took a rough shake of the shoulder to rouse him. “Come on, time to go.”

                  The way Akechi walked was almost on autopilot, feet barely carrying him through the doors as they threatened to close on the pair and the steps to the escalator almost robotic. His shoe nearly caught the teeth as the stairs flattened on the top and all through the quiet alleys of Yongenjaya was an exercise in leaning into the walls and gates of each property.

                  Then he fell.

                  It was almost an instant as though his knees simply stopped existing or lost the capacity to hold any weight. Locals looked on, a few muttering something about underage drinking as Akechi blinked in rapid succession, unable to move.

                  “You okay?”

                  “M’fine” Akechi slurred, his first words since they had exited the Mementos for a quick training drill that day. Akira offered a hand up only for it to get slapped away. Akechi instead put his gloved palms on the ground in an attempt to pull himself up until toppling over on his side.

                  Akira pulled out his phone. He hoped she was still there.

Ring. Ring. “Hello?”

“Tae? I’m just out of the train station, but one of my friends is sick all the sudden. Can I bring him to you?”

There was a pause, “is this something that should be done in a hospital?”

‘Probably’ was the first word that came to Akira’s head. Besides, he wouldn’t be able to mention the metaverse to just any old doctor should it come to it. “it’s one of well… one of my group.”

“Can you get here on your own?”

“It’s not far. See you in a couple minutes, and thanks. I owe you.”

Blank eyes stared ahead, barely responsive to the spectacle he was creating. Akira had to hope against hope that there were no photographers from a gossip rag in the neighborhood as he pulled the male idol up against his shoulder, ignoring the mutters of protest.

One foot in front of the other seemed simple enough, and Akechi was far from heavy in himself, but he was taller with a stature that was all limbs versus Akira’s somewhat broader build. It made it awkward to pull the nearly dead weight in any direction, even if he was capable of cooperating.

He was never so glad to see that ugly commercial building that stuck out like a sore thumb against the old wooden houses that lined the neighborhood.

 

 

                  Tae was at the bottom of her building holding the elevator door as the pair approached. Riding up to the floor of her office, she already had her penlight out into Akechi’s eyes. “I…I’m fine,” he slurred, his hand going up to shield it.

                  “Most patients in a delusional state say that.”

                  “Akira, lay him on the exam table. I need to get a couple things.”

                  Returning to the exam bed, a tray with an assortment of tools along with a plastic bag of saline, Tae went to work while Akira retreated to the corner of the room. Her long gloved fingers made a firm indentation in his neck as she eyed her watch. After a spell, she jotted a number in her notes before turning her attention to the patient. “Akechi-san? Are you with me?”

                  A pitiful nod was all that could be mustered. Akira wondered how much of that was less illness but pride.

                  Tae started unwrapping a needle and catheter, “I’m going to start you on some fluids. That okay?” The same little nod. A strip of rubber wrapped around his arm forced the veins out in a bulge under the skin.

                  “A little prick,” she said as the needle slid in flawlessly. Connecting the fluids, she continued with questions, “Any history of health issues?”

                  Two slow blinks. “No.”

                  She hung the fluids from a pole at the end of the table and adjusted the drip. “Not diabetic?”

                  This was the side that confused Akira. The suggestion made Akechi’s eyes widen a bit and breath hitch until swallowing it down hard. An actual psychopath wouldn’t show fear much less pain, longing and loneliness as tumbled out over cups of evening coffee at Le Blanc.  
                  “N-no,” he replied.

                  Tae nodded, taking a finger in her left hand while the right pointed a small lancet at the tip. “Well, I’m going to test your blood sugar, just in case. You’ll feel it right on your fingertip.”

                  A bead of red blossomed from the tiny incision made, coaxed by Tae’s fingers. A test strip wiped it away before going into a small machine. Pushing a button, she felt around her patient’s lymph nodes going on as though carrying on a casual conversation.

                  “Tell me your name.”

                  “Akechi Goro.”

                  She nodded, “Birthdate.”

                  “June sec-second, 1998.”

                  “So, you about a high school senior? What’s your parent’s contact information? Phone number, address?”

                  Akechi was looking past her toward Joker’s apprehensive stance in the room. It almost looked as though he were scoffing at him. Still, Akira approached Tae, whispering the basic circumstances in her ear.

                  “My apologies Akechi-san. I didn’t realize.” The glucose meter gave a beep.

                  “When’s the last time you ate?”

                  Akira was sure the boy’s eyes were looking in separate places at the moment.

                  “Akechi-san?” Tae coaxed in a firm tone, “Your blood sugar is dangerously low. If you’re not diabetic, I need to know if there’s a reason to worry or not.”

                  There was a long groan, “lunch.”

                  “So about 6-8 hours ago. What did you have.”

                  “A-apple.”

                  Tae nodded, “and?”

                  “Just apple.”

                  It was an all too familiar reply. Akira’s hands went to the bridge of his nose, “That’s an ongoing thing. He’s mentioned not eating a number of times.”

                  Tae nodded and took out another fresh syringe loaded with another serum that she plunged into the port of the saline bag. “That could explain some things. I’m adding some glucose to the drip Akechi-san. Try to relax for the next hour or so. If it’s hypoglycemia from under eating, you should start to feel better soon.”

                  Leaving the boy to rest, she pulled Akira out to the deserted waiting area. “You said he often says he doesn’t eat lunch?”

                  Akira shook his head, “it’s always just an apple or he forgot.” His voice trailed off in thought, “I don’t think he ever orders curry when at Le Blanc either.”

                  “An orphan, huh. So he probably lives in an institution of some kind.”

                  Akira shook his head, remembering the almost sighed resignation that Akechi used in explaining his situation. “I’m pretty sure he’s living on his own. He’s mentioned an apartment before.” He’d also said that he was doing quite well for himself at this point.

                  Tae jotted down some notes, “he’s a touch skinny, but not underweight – at least not enough to worry. Probably more malnourishment than anything else, but I’m not a psychiatrist.”

                  Of course she wasn’t. And Akira knew that Akechi was a bundle of unresolved issues. It was obvious in how, at eighteen, he had the look of perpetual exhaustion reserved for a salaryman twice his age. And every time he hunched over a cup of coffee until the doors were about to close the loneliness was palpable. For a time it seemed like he came into the café as a cat staking out his prey. Somewhere in those late night discussions with him and Sojiro it became apparent that Akechi simply didn’t want to go home.

                  “It’s not uncommon,” Tae said, a small reassuring smile on her face. “Kids who go though that kind of upbringing usually struggle. Even high functioning ones don’t learn everything they should.”

                  Again, it was something that Akira only knew from an occasional newspaper article, often about growing homelessness in Tokyo and how many of them had aged out of foster homes and institutions. Those were the ones who manage to avoid the biker gangs and Yakuza.

“I assume there is a good deal of stress in his life.”

An understatement. Akira was sure Akechi was the metaverse visitor in black. For what purpose was not clear and if there was anything made clear was that nothing the boy did was without intent. But even without the physical peril there was the growing quasi-celebrity on top of a school load. And working an internship directly alongside Sae in the prosecutor’s office. Makoto said that he often missed a number of days at the cram school they attended yet was still one of the highest performers on nearly every drill.

When Akechi first came in to LeBlanc, nonchalantly sipping coffee as he worked through an English lesson, Akira knew that the ace detective was unlikely to rest until he came in crowing about his admission into Todai. Perhaps he’d opt for Waseda if the program was stronger.

Other than that distant loneliness he had been doing well enough. Except he was doing all this from a public rather than private high school like so many others. Money bought a decent cram school but a good private school didn’t want the uncertainty of a kid whose family registry consisted of just a single forgotten name.

Akira knew what it felt to have a name besmirched. This past year had been the weight of the gallows around his neck as he came to terms with suddenly being anything other than respectable. Stamped next to his name was the word criminal. The weight of that title was something he wagered Akechi had been burdened with his entire life. No matter his grades or good graces, there wouldn’t be a spot in an elite university for a kid who should end up on the fringes of society. All that hard work would perhaps earn him a probationary slot in a second or third tier school where he’d excel his way into a mediocre job.

“Would you be able to look after him for a night or two? I’m not sure if he has an eating disorder or just struggling, but he probably needs someone to keep on eye on this habits.”

A piece of Akira could understand how Akechi could end up on the giving end of the mental shutdowns.

Akira went through his contacts toward Sojiro’s number. Futaba had passed it along to him after their first outing to Akiba as a just in case scenario without having to rely on the public phone in the café. And as much as Sojiro grumbled about not keeping the numbers of men on his phone, he picked up on the second ring with a terse, “hey, where are you? It’s too damn late.”

“I’m at the doctor. Is it okay if one of my friends crashes upstairs for a night or two? He lives alone and is sick. Also, do we have curry ingredients left?”

“Kitagawa? I already said he’s always welcome.”

That was a good guess, all things considered, “No, it’s Akechi.”

The sound of stirring came from the exam room, prompting Tae to enter back in, the sliver of florescent lighting streaming toward the uncomfortable cot Akira spent many afternoons reeling.

“Whatever, I’m not going to judge anyone you bring up in that room. Just try to get back soon so I can go home.”

Akechi was picking at the catheter in the hand until Tae tsked at him. “Why don’t you just leave that in for a bit?”

“I’m fine.” The rest along with the fluids had perked him up to the point that his words were clear and eyes sharper, if still tired.

Tae went back to her materials tray and took out another test strip, gripping another finger on the boy’s hand. “I’m just seeing where you’re at compared to earlier.”

Another droplet of blood went into the device while she took out a stethoscope and listened to his heart and lungs before slipping down against his abdomen. With another beep the glucose monitor completed.

“Well, your pulse and blood sugar are quite an improvement. That said, I’m going to need to take some blood samples to run some tests.”

Akechi moved to protest only for Akira to say in a firm voice, “Listen to the nice doctor, will you?”

“Thank you, peanut gallery,” Tae said with a bemused smile as she took the strip of rubber and tied it around Akechi’s other arm, this time targeting a larger vein in the crux of his elbow. “okay, one more needle.”

It went in without incident, leaving Tae to reach behind for vials to collect the sample. “From my understanding you’re not eating properly.”

“It’s normal,” Akechi said, “I have a hectic schedule.”

“What you call normal, I’m inclined to suspect is a health issue,” Tae said. The first vial filled and she reached for the next. “I tend to be a fan of the three meals a day approach from a medical standpoint. And not relying on makeup to hide sleep deprivation.”

Akechi was at a lost for words, a few incomplete syllables spilling from his mouth and red tipped ears that betrayed his embarrassment.

A third vial went in with a barely discernable pop. “You live alone?”

“Ah, yes. I have an apartment near Ikebukuro.”

The final vial came out and joined the others. A piece of gauze replaced the needle.

Tae turned her attention to the saline drip that had just about completed. Disconnecting the tubing, she left the vein port in for a moment, returning to her cabinet to pull out several syringes. “I’m going to give you a dose of potassium, iron and a b vitamin,” she said, quickly plunging each in quick succession, “You’re almost certainly low on all of them given your habits. But ultimately you need to get better on your lifestyle choices.”

 “I don’t want you alone for a couple days. Tonight at the very least.”

“You’re staying on my couch,” Akira added before Akechi could get a protest in, “no ands ifs or buts.”

 

 

 

When the chimes of the door jingled with their return, Le Blanc was empty but for two plates of curry on the counter, one in the spot that had become Akechi’s favorite.

                  “I’m sorry Sakura-san. I can’t impose.”

                  “Nonsense. What’s one more stray?” Sojiro said with a heavy shrug of the shoulders.

                  Akechi picked at the rice on the edge of the plate in silent contemplation while Akira ground the coffee beans and set up the pouring funnels.

                  With pork pie hat on his head, Sojiro motioned to the two, “there’s more in the fridge. Just clean up after yourselves, boys. Akechi, make sure you don’t overdo it.”

                  The bells chimed as LeBlan emptied but for the two of them. Akira set out a cup of coffee in front of Goro before dripping the hot water over a second funnel for himself. The meal had barely been touched.

                  “Eat,” he stated, “You’re not going to get fat. Stop worrying about looking perfect for once and take care of yourself.”

                  Akechi swirled the spoon around. “That’s not it.”

                  “Bullshit.” This was a man who spent more time on his appearance than most of the girls in class. Even now, his nails were impeccably trimmed and his hair put back in place after leaving Tae’s place.

                  “It’s really not,” Akechi said with the sad smile that was so apparent. He took in a small mouthful and swallowed. “As unlikely as it seems.”

                  His own cup ready, Akira slouched over the counter, “okay, so…”

                  “It’s more that it’s hard to keep down any larger quantities. Ever since I was a child my stomach has had problems.”

                  “When Tae asked about health issues you didn’t think that counted?”

                  Another half spoonful came up. “Doctors have never been able to explain it.” He held the mouthful in place for a moment before swallowing, “remember how I had mentioned my mother dying and ending up in foster homes?”

                  Of course Akira did. It had been so surprising that someone such as Goro Akechi, who was reserved with an ice wall a meter thick between him and the rest of humanity had mentioned it so casually. He nodded.

                  “They,” he began, reaching for the coffee cup, “they weren’t always good in terms of care.” His voice dropped an octave, “The truth was that a number of them were abusive. Most of them withheld food as a punishment or because they saw it as an expense. Even when my mother was alive, we were so poor that we had no choice but to live on cheap food like cabbages and daikon.”

It bothered Akira. While they were busy unraveling whatever entity Akechi was working for, he rattled off a string of misfortune as though it were a grocery list or set of instructions.

“Needless to say, a number of foods have come to not agree with my stomach. Little bits are usually okay, but too much of most things creates indigestion. It’s just best to avoid the things that cause it.”

Akira’s brow furrowed in confusion, “so up to now how have you managed?”

Even now it was apparent he was doing more mixing the rice into the curry sauce than attempting to eat. “Dietary supplements have helped. Eating whatever I can when I have the time… it’s not ideal other than TV.”

“And you’re sure this isn’t an image thing?”

“It probably would be in issue,” Akechi said in the same nonchalance, “under most other circumstances.

As the spoon swirled again Akira, took it in hand, “well, stop playing and at least try to finish that at least. Otherwise I’m taking you back to Takemi-sensei. That curry too damn good to waste.”

“It’s a bit spicy,” Akechi said, “I’m sure it’s fantastic given Sakura-san’s standards. I just see a stomachache.”

Perhaps it was because he was tired after a long night that was wasted in productivity but he was approaching the end of his patience. He understood not having proper access to food in intervals. Yusuke was often relegated to a diet rich in bean sprouts and cabbage for various intervals, but put a plate of curry in front of him and it would vanish. Akechi wasn’t doing himself any favors in saying it wasn’t at least in part in his head. “Eat. Just get it down. We’ll pick you up something from the grocery in the morning if you want something else.”

They didn’t speak much more as Akechi slowly but surely picked away at his meal, allowing Akira to finally serve himself up a plate that had no issues going down. Giving way to Akechi’s insistence at cleaning the dishes, Akira made his way up to the attic first, noting that Sojiro had already laid out an extra blanket and pillow on the sofa. Based on the bold patterns on the fabric, it was probably Futaba’s.

He rummaged through his box of clothes, finding an extra pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Akechi was taller, but not by so much that it would matter in terms of clothing. Hearing the footsteps creaking on the way up, Akira tossed the wad of clothes in his direction. “Here. Don’t sleep in your street clothes.”

Akechi’s face was a tad flushed and he wordlessly took the bundle, not acknowledging when Akira made a point to turn toward the crafting table in the corner of the room, fiddling with a lockpick while he changed. Once the t-shirt pulled over his head and his clothing loosly folded to drape over the television set, the boy flopped onto the sofa, looking utterly spent.

“Hey,” Akira said as he settled into his bed, “sorry for snapping earlier.”

“It’s fine” was all Akechi said before he was out in an instant.

 

 

 

 

Akira woke up to a rustling that was heavier than he was used to with Morgana. It went on for a few seconds before stopping. Just as he started drifting off, it began anew. Cracking a single eye open, he glanced to the source of the noise where Akechi turned on his back, bringing his knees up into his chest in a fetal position.

In the dark it was impossible to make out features, but the heavy sound of breathing through the nostrils was apparent, and just beneath it he barely audible keening sound kept muffled in the pillow. Akira was about to speak up until bare feet his the floor and Akechi moved all so quiet down the steps in the small customer bathroom. The toilet flushed once, and again a few minutes later.

Not hearing anything, Akira made his way down. “Akechi?” he said as he neared. Yellow light spilled out of the cracked door. Through the opening he was expecting to see the boy vomiting his meal, but instead his head was bent along the sink, forehead against the cool ceramic surface as he sat on the toilet.

“You okay?”

The door kicked closed in front of him. Muffled words that sounded like an attempt at a ‘told you so’ came out followed by the very clear words of, “Just let me be.”

Akira did what he was told, returning to the attic as the toilet flushed for a third time. He took out his phone and brought up Tae’s number. Too late to call, but instead he tapped out a text.

 

When you run the blood tests take a careful look. It’s not all in his head like we thought.

 

 

That didn’t mean that it wasn’t a component. It was clear that there was some reason he wouldn’t admit something was physically wrong. Perhaps the same reason why he had taken on the mantle of the executioner of the metaverse. But the fact that it had been allowed to go on so long with nobody noticing regardless of how much physical and mental factors played made Akira want to make sure that something was done.

He pretended to be asleep when Akechi finally made his way up after the fourth flush. He tried to drown out being awoken by the perpetual restlessness and discomfort coming from the sofa. Somehow in all this he finally managed to get a bit of sleep.

 

The next morning was greeted with heavy eyes that did not want to open and a body that just could not feel the chipper mood of a brisk autumn day. His school uniform hung from a hook on the wall, ready for another lesson where he could only hope Kawakami would let him nap in third period.

Akechi was out cold, twisted in a bundle of long limbs and blanket in what was an uncomfortable display. Akira reached a hand out to the shoulder. “Hey, we have school.”

His phone beeped.

 

I’ll do the tests possible. He’ll need to come back for a more thorough exam if he wants a proper diagnosis.

 

That was the part Akira knew would be pulling teeth as Akechi stirred, bleary and looking worse for wear.

“I think,” Akechi said with a smack of a too dry throat, “I may need to take a sick day today.”

“About that,” Akira said, “sorry. I didn’t entirely believe you when you said you couldn’t handle that.”

Akechi reached over to where his clothes from the night prior had been kicked away in his sleep. “I know your thinking and your intentions were in the right place. It’s just something to deal with, like everything else.”

“Tae wants you to come back in a couple days after she runs the blood tests. Maybe she’ll be able to figure out why you react that way.”

The t-shirt was slipped over his head and replaced with the slightly musky smelling button down. “It’s not necessary. I always manage somehow.”

“Sojiro’s going to open shop soon, but are you really okay going home by yourself.”

That faraway smile, the one in a sheet of ice returned, hiding away all traces of the discomfort and exhaustion. “As I said, I’ve always managed to get by on my own. There’s no point in worrying.”

Except Akira did worry. He wanted to break through to him because something in the back of his mind told him that everything that was wrong in this was in some way tied to that impenetrable loneliness. It didn’t have to be that way if only he was willing to open up enough to see any other option.

But Akechi was dressed and out the door before Akira could lodge his case, ducking out the doors as he brushed his teeth without a single word.

All he had to say was that he wasn’t okay.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the kink meme triggered off of discussion on how Akechi often mentions not eating or having nothing more than an apple. The body image route is all too common and thus ended up trying to do a different take to explain those behaviors.


End file.
